The blue ink strolls across the waiting page,
its footprints wrought in metaphor and joy,
whilst black ink stamps its mark in damning rage
and petulant derision to annoy
romantic dreams in similes described
like petals of an orchid on the breeze;
an anger-mixed elixir fear imbibed -
attention-seeking coughing, ill at ease
with beauty bound in dreams upon the mind
to soak up blessings, inspiration’s sun.
In nightmare’s lee, our essence is defined
by fear’s approximation to the gun.
Though inspiration flies on wings of light,
it also bathes in hate and loves a fight!
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